


Day 26: No One Else Comes Close

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Comeplay, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Nipple Play, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Harry thinks he can't come. He's wrong.





	

—-

 

The kids have just nodded off early when Louis comes home and brings the cold air with him, his cheeks ruddy and nose like ice as he strides up and buries his face in Harry’s neck, breathing from him deeply. “Feels like a proper October night out there, me hands are frozen,” he whispers, sliding them up Harry’s back over his shirt. Harry can feel the chill through the worn cotton, and he sighs, letting the stress of the day melt into Louis’s arms as they sway gracelessly around the living room. “S’gonna be glove weather soon. How are the kids?” 

 

“Already sleeping, they were proper tired today.” 

 

“Should I go in and sneak kisses or will all hell break loose?” Louis asks. 

 

Harry shakes his head. “I wouldn’t, unless you want to incite another crying storm. There were a lot of tears today for some reason?! I had to throw a diplomatic tea party, Izzy braided my hair for the occasion...she’s getting better. I reckon she’ll figure out french braids soon so you better watch out, she’ll start trying to practice on you,,” Harry grins, smoothing his fingers through Louis’s hair, feeling the crispness of fall still clinging to it, cold and smoky. “And George drew a nice portrait of us today, s’on the firidge. You look a bit peaky in it but, like, that orange crayon does nothing for the complexion. S’not George’s fault.” 

 

“Budding hairdresser and impressionist on our hands,,” Louis says fondly, kissing Harry’s temple with cold lips. “And how are you? You seem proper tired too, if I’m honest.” 

 

“Was a long day,” Harry admits, flopping on the couch as Louis gets his dinner from the kitchen. “Like I said, lots of tears. You know how there are those days, the easy ones that go by quick and everyone is sweet to each other and gets along and Izzy only has one tantrum and George only spills a _reasonable_ amount?”

 

Louis pads pack into the living room with his spaghetti, cheeks still pink from the cold outside, fringe mussed in front fom Harry’s hands. “Sounds like it wasn’t one of those days, love.” He says, brow knit in sympathy. 

 

“Noooo not exactly,” Harry grins, making room on the couch for Louis beside him, thinking about how much the house doesn’t really feel like _home_ until Louis is here, until they’re together. It’s like the house itself sighs upon his arrival, settling in on itself. It feels warmer, like this. 

 

Louis collapses on the couch to eat, head cocked as he asks, “So why the mayhem? Did anything in particular happen or were you all just missing me so terribly you fell apart?” He asks, grinning sharp and sweet and batting his eyelashes. 

 

“Just the usual. George didn’t want any of his toys, just wanted whatever Izzy had, and then once he stole it from her, he didn’t want it anymore and she was screaming...you know, stuff like that, over and over again. S’why we ended up having the tea party, bit of a diplomatic thing.” 

 

Louis grins cheekily, kicking off his dress shoes and burrowing his toes under the warmth of Harry’s thigh. “I find tea very diplomatic. And I find you to be a very good diplomat. I’m sure everyone was shaking hands and kissing cheeks and signing treaties by the time you put them to bed?” 

 

Harry snorts, rolling his eyes and smiling to himself because it almost seems funny now, the absurdity of parenting. “ _Hardly._ There was a screaming fit over dinner, and another when they were brushing their teeth for bed,” he explains, watching the way the light plays off Louis’s sparkling eyes, the way he sucks sauce off his fork so his cheeks hollow out into the loveliest concave. “Oh, and George somehow destroyed Izzy’s favorite Littlest Petshop thing...you know, the blue house that opens up?”

 

“S’not a house, it’s a petshop, Harold. Obviously,” Louis says. 

 

“ _Welll_ whatever it is it doesn’t open up anymore. Like fifteen plastic animals are permanently imprisoned in there, I could _not_ open it up for the life of me after he had his way with it, and naturally Izzy was _devastated_. We all had a good cry about that one, too.” 

 

Louis makes a sweet, sympathetic face, just a gentle twist of his mouth with his brows drawn together. “Oh, poor Iz. We’ll figure it out tomorrow, we can always _break_ it open to at least free the ones inside.” 

 

“Don’t do it in front of George, he might get inspired,” Harry says through a yawn. _God_. He’s _tired_ , heavy-limbed and hazy in that way that he sometimes gets when Louis comes home and whatever anxiety or anticipation he was holding in his body drains out, leaving him limp, tender, soft around the edges. He yawns again, this time so hard his eyes water. “You’re gonna have to take me upstairs and have your way with me soon,” he announces, blinking. “I’m fading fast.” 

 

Louis pokes him in the thigh with his toe, making a face. “No falling asleep on me _now_ , Hazza. We only have five nights left.” 

 

Harry flops out across the arm of the couch, eyes fluttering closed. “I dunno, we might have to quit. I’m feeling quite faint,” he says, futilely battling a smile. 

 

With a clink of utensil against ceramic, Louis has set his bowl on the floor and flung himself atop Harry, placing rough, damp kisses all over the exposed line of his throat, making him shiver at the scrape of stubble and soft heat of his lips. Harry lets himself get lost in it for a moment, melting into the couch and allowing his mind to get all dark and hazy and messy, but then Louis _bites him_ , just a single sharp press of teeth to the line of his jaw, before he pulls back with an affronted, “Oi! Were you just _falling asleep_ while I kissed you?! Have I lost my _touch_ or something?” 

 

Harry grins, tonguing at the corner of his mouth, impossibly moved by Louis, his bright eyes and offended expression and pursed, pink lips. He’s so lovely. “ _No_ , you haven’t lost anything. M’just really tired, and you feel really good.” 

 

“God, you’re, like, nodding off while I talk to you,” Louis says, sliding off the couch and grabbing his empty bowl, bringing it to the kitchen from where he stage whispers, “Go up to bed, I’ll be there in one minute. I’m not gonna let our _dog_ mess us up when we only have three nights left.” 

 

“So competitive,” Harry calls back, stumbling up the stairs because his legs are sore; he’s feeling sleepy and uncoordinated, and he’s not _used_ to having sex every night, especially not the relatively experimental, unusual sex they’ve been having in the last 30 days. It’s been a work out in and of itself, and adding the Zuko-disaster and vet-hell on top of that? He flops down onto the bed, wiggling out of his jeans and tee-shirt so he’s lying there in nothing but pants and socks, eyes closed. He kind of just wants to _sleep_ , even though the memory of Louis’s hot mouth and rough chin against his throat is still fresh in his mind, his skin still sensitive from it. He sighs, palming his cock through his pants, trying to get himself at least a little woken up, a little _worked_ up before Louis joins him. 

 

All it takes is a few half-hearted tugs on his cock before his thighs clench up, seizing in protest, remembering the bathtub and the butt plugs and the wall and the tent and the spanking and _everything else_ they’ve done in the last few weeks. He sighs, making a pouty face when Louis finally comes up, hands damp like he washed his dishes, tie loosened and dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Harry makes a noise because he looks so _good_ , he always does, but he feels like a noodle right now, completely incapable of doing anything save for lolling pitifully about. “Lou, I know I’ve said this before, but, like. I might really mean it this time.” 

 

“Uh oh, say what?” Louis asks, brows arched. 

 

“I’m not sure m’gonna be able to come tonight,” Harry says. 

 

“Baby,” Louis sighs, face softening, eyes flicking over his bare chest and thighs. “S’okay, we can work something out. It’s still sex even if you don’t get off, right? Just lemme make you feel good.” 

 

Harry smiles because Louis is just so _lovely_ , soft looking with his chestnut hair all fluffed up in the back as he pulls his tie off and hangs it on the doorknob. “Or _you_ can just get off. Wank on my face, or something, I’d love that,” he says, holding his hands out and making a grabbing motion since Louis isn’t nearly close enough. He wants to be _covered_ in him, suffocated under the heat of his body, drowned until he can’t see or breathe. “C’mere.” 

 

“I’m here,” Louis says, shucking his trousers and laying down next to Harry, resting one hand over his heart, fingers splayed as he brushes them down across the shallow valley of his sternum and over his ribs, moving in time with his shuddering exhalations. “I’ve fucked you every night for twenty-five days, and you still take my breath away. How is that even possible?” he murmurs, almost to himself, and Harry’s heart stops a little. 

 

“S’probably because we’re in love,” he offers, and Louis grins, ducking his head into Harry’s armpit and inhaling, licking into the ditch of it where he probably tastes sharp and musky with today’s stress-sweat. Louis groans a little, his tongue getting a little wetter, a little greedier, making Harry squirm. 

 

He comes up for air, cheeks flushed and eyes flint-black with pupil as he announces, “I’ll tell you what. _I_ can certainly come today because I’ve been wanting you all day, torturing myself with every filthy picture you’ve ever sent me during me lunch break. And it’s _a lot_ because I never delete your messages on mobile.” 

 

Harry gasps, eyes suddenly wide. “ _Really_? You were looking at my _nudes_ at _work_?” 

 

Louis grins wickedly, biting the inside of Harry’s bicep, tongue sweeping over the tiny constellation of ridiculous tattoos there. “Yes. And lemme tell you, there are some good ones.” 

 

“They’re not _all_ good?” Harry asks, threading his fingers through Louis’s hair and pulling, tugging his mouth closer to his skin because it feels _marvelous_ , and even if he can’t come tonight, he’s still turned on, cock chubbing up in his pants, skin prickling with new sweat as Louis touches him. 

 

“Oh, they’re all good, but there are some that are, like…Oscar worthy. Pulitzer worthy? I don’t know; what do photographs win?” Louis mumbles, mouthing a path from Harry’s shoulder to the hollows beneath his collar bone, hand roving across his chest and down to the waistband of his pants. He snaps the elastic against Harry’s flat stomach, grinning when it makes him jump. 

 

“Which ones?” Harry asks, voice a little reedy. Louis feels so _good_ , loose, aimless touch, greedy and self-indulgent like he’s just taking in the way Harry’s skin feels, with no real intent to turn him on or get him close or bring him off. Just touching. 

 

“Well, there are a few of your cock, which is gorgeous from any angle. And there’s, like, one, where you’re already all wet and you’re showing me your fingers; they’re all slick and shiny. Made me fucking mouth water, I was, like, _perishing_ in my office.” 

 

“Oh, god,” Harry says, thinking about Louis thinking about _him,_ cock twitching in his nice work slacks while he scrolled through their text history. “What else?” 

 

“Mmm, there were some with your fingers in your ass. God, maybe your fingers were really getting to me today?” he wonders, finding Harry’s hand and grabbing him by the wrist, bringing the fingers in question to his mouth and sucking them down, hot tongue swirling around his knuckles, and _oh_. Harry feels dizzy and spoiled, his back arching a little as Louis scrapes his teeth down the length of his fingers and pulls off messily, looking at him through his lashes, showing him all the things his mouth can do as if he doesn’t already _know._

 

“ _So_ ,” Harry says, half-hard now, voice thick. “My fingers?” 

 

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, licking at them again, flicking his tongue over just the tips. “And, like, everything else, really. The rest of you. So, see, _you_ might be worn out, but I still want you. Just tell me what I can do.” 

 

Harry knows this game that Louis is playing, the _tell me what you want me to do so that I can push up against it, fray your resolve until you end up letting me do whatever I want._ He smiles, soft and hazy; he loves Louis _so much_ , loves his wicked mouth and the way he never stops _pushing_ , not back in uni and not now, not twenty-five days into a thirty-day sex challenge. “You can do whatever you want,” he murmurs, meaning it. 

 

“I want to use you,” Louis says idly, brushing his warm palm over the tented front of Harry’s pants and cupping his cock before rubbing down the inside of his thigh, digging his thumb into the tight muscle there. “Just want to touch and taste you all over and get my fill while you lie there like that. Want to come all over you and rub it in. That alright?” 

 

“Sounds perfect,” Harry murmurs, stretching as Louis rolls over onto his stomach, elbows bracketing Harry’s head before he leans down and kisses him deeply, his tongue salty with Harry’s underarm sweat as he licks him open, draws a broken, involuntary moan up from his chest. “But will you _really_ get your fill?” Harry asks, grinning as they break apart. “M’skeptical.” 

 

“Never,” Louis breathes before kissing him again, holding his face steady and sucking on his tongue, lips desperate and rough and hungry like he’s been thinking about this all _day_ , and then Harry remembers in a haze of overwhelm that he _has_ , he’s been wanting this. Harry loses himself to the kiss, lets Louis fuck his lips apart and chew on them until they’re slick and swollen, lets Louis tug fistfuls of his hair and thumb over the divots in his throat. 

 

They part, and Harry is gasping, head thrown back and vision nothing but static as Louis mouths over his jaw, down his neck, sucking and chewing like Harry’s skin, in its sheen of sweat and general grime of the day, is the best thing he’s ever gotten his mouth on. Harry lies back and takes it, pliant without the pressure of having to come, just enjoying the rasp of Louis’s stubble and the sweep of his tongue. 

 

Louis kisses all over his torso but stops to play with his nipples, hands braced on either side of Harry’s heaving chest as he flicks his tongue over the left one, getting it pert and shiny before he bites down just hard enough to make Harry keen, twisting on top of the bed. “Really good,” he murmurs, sighing as Louis sucks the sting away, thumbing over the other one, making it hard and sensitive, too. 

 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, breath warm as it tickles against his nipple, teasing with the promise of more tongue, the sharpness of teeth. “There were some really lovely pictures of your chest, too. Love your nipples when they’re puffy, love when I can seem them through your tee-shirts, makes me want to bite you,” he mumbles between sharp, pointed sucks. 

 

“All four of them?” Harry jokes, voice getting lost and cut-off and forgotten as Louis moves to the right one, kissing it with a dry, chaste brush of lips before licking just _around_ it, and it drives Harry _crazy_ , makes him huff and wriggle and hiss with impatience. “Lou,” he whines. 

 

Louis laughs, and Harry _feels_ it, the hot gust of his breath, ragged with arousal. “God, look at you, Mr. I’m Too Tired to Come, begging for my mouth.” He swirls his tongue once around the peak of Harry’s nipple before grazing it with his teeth, breath audibly catching at the way Harry presses up into it, needy and easy. 

 

“I told you, s’really good,” Harry murmurs, words tapering off into a hoarse groan as Louis really _sucks_ , hard enough it hurts, his teeth pressing into the plane of Harry’s pectoral muscle and making him cry out. 

 

Louis sits up on his haunches then, straddling Harry’s hips as he rubs his palms over his nipples, the spit-wet drag of his hands across Harry’s skin deliciously _greedy_. “Could do just this to you for hours, you know. Just suck those perfect puffy nipples and come from it. You’re perfect,” he murmurs, taking Harry’s nipples in thumb and forefinger and twisting, grinning brilliantly at the sound Harry makes, muffled and cut-off.

 

“You can,” Harry says, voice so low it’s almost nothing but a rumble. “I’d let you.” 

 

Louis shakes his head. “There are about two hundred other things I want to do to you, actually,” he says, “but I’ll keep taking my time.” 

 

He digs his nails into Harry’s chest and thumbs over his nipples, head cocked to admire the way they’re even puffier and more swollen than usual, hard nubs framed in teeth marks. He bends his head and scoots down along Harry’s body, fixing his soft, wet mouth on the right one and sucking some more, tongue lapping and swirling, and Harry just sighs, letting it happen. Louis is so _good_ , so attentive and aware of his body, all his sensitive spots and secret triggers. His cock is hard, straining pleasantly against the inside of his pants and leaking, enough he feels like he could come, _maybe_ , if his legs weren’t so sore and shot. 

 

Louis’s voice rumbles against his skin, a hot vibration over Harry’s heart as he flicks his tongue over the left nipple, totally absorbed in his beautifully self-indulgent way. He’s rutting his own hard cock into the plane of Harry’s thigh with his eyes closed and his lashes fluttering against his cheek, and it’s so perfect, really, the way he gets lost, the way he takes control until he gets bowled over in a moment like this, the tang of Harry’s skin under his tongue, the smell of his sweat. 

 

“Lou, baby,” Harry groans thickly, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Louis’s head, cuffing him there, bringing him closer so his mouth spreads over his pectoral, hot and obscene. “Lemme taste your cock.” 

 

Louis makes a broken noise, brow furrowing as he frees himself from his pants, cock looking heavy and thick in the pale curve of his hand. Harry’s eyes get hazy, and he can’t think of _anything_ else, can’t think past the sharp pang of hunger that blinds him. He wants Louis in his _mouth_ , wants to feel him come against the back of his throat, fill him up. “Please,” he whimpers mindlessly as Louis tugs himself slowly, watching Harry watch him. 

 

Then he scoots up the bed on his side, far enough that his cock is level with Harry’s lips. Harry would already _be_ there, would already be swallowing him down, but Louis is holding him still with a fist in his hair, sharp with warning. He could theoretically reach for Louis with his hands, but he _knows_ better, knows that if Louis is keeping him in place that means no touching, too, and he likes the constraint of it, lets his hands go slack and soft on the sheets in the tight humid space between their bodies. “No, just. Stay. Want you to just lie there.” 

 

“And _watch_?!” Harry asks incredulously, eyebrows shooting up, but Louis just laughs at him, thumb sliding just below the bead of precum collecting at the slit of his cock. It looks messy and hot, and Harry _wants_ it, is gonna beg for it or twist out of Louis’s grip in a few seconds to lick it up, but then Louis dips his finger into that perfect bead and instead of smearing it over the head of his cock, wipes it up and rubs it over Harry’s lower lip, like gloss. 

 

Harry gets instantly dizzy and quiet. “Oh,” he says before licking it off, stunned by the salty bitter flavor of Louis even though he’s tasted it every night for the last month, even though Louis is _his_ and has been forever. 

 

“You want more?” Louis asks very quietly, eyes fixed on Harry’s mouth, gaze searing. 

 

Harry nods, still licking his lips as he looks up at Louis, gaze half-lidded and hazy and hungry. “Yes,” he tells him, _always_ , the answer is always yes. 

 

Louis jacks himself off until enough precum has collected that his cock head is _shiny_ , nearly dripping, inches from Harry’s face and close enough that he can _smell_ the sharp organic bite of it, so familiar but so _thrilling_. “Put your lips in it,” Louis says in a weak voice, combing his fingers rhythmically through Harry’s roots, snagging at the tangles left from this afternoon’s braids. “Like, don’t suck on me, no tongue or anything, just, like…with your lips.” 

 

Harry bends his head and kisses the tip of Louis’s cock, brow creasing from the perfect raw heat of it against him, his lips gliding back and forth, parted as he slicks them up. Everything is soft and slippery and _filthy_ , and he can feel Louis’s gaze burning into him, watching so attentively as he does what he’s told. 

 

“God, you’re so gorgeous, Harry,” Louis says breathlessly, tilting Harry’s head back with a fist in his hair. “You can lick your lips, love.” 

 

Harry almost cries as he does it, eyes stinging and a cut-off, strangled noise getting stuck in his throat as he licks Louis up. It’s good, _perfect_ , but it’s not enough. He wants his lips stretched open, he wants the weight of Louis’s cock on his tongue, not _just_ his flavor. He whines, teeth in his lower lip. “Please, wanna suck you. Let me.” 

 

“No,” Louis says easily, but Harry can hear the wheeziness to it, the way it’s frayed at the edges like pages of a well-loved book. _His_ well-loved book, Harry thinks, struggling against Louis’s firm grip in his hair, gasping at the sharp tug on his scalp. “Just wait, baby. Wait a minute, let me play with you first.” 

 

“Ugh,” Harry groans, giving up and going limp as he watches Louis wank, slow and lazy and teasing as he tugs his foreskin up, letting it close almost completely over the head, so his precum bubbles, collects in the pocket. Harry wants to get his tongue in there, wants to choke himself on Louis’s length, but he settles for just watching, knowing his cheeks are red, his eyes bright. “Your cock is so pretty,” Harry mumbles, voice soft with longing. 

 

“You’re so pretty,” Louis tells him. “You can touch me, you know. With your hands. Not my cock but anything else.” 

 

Harry doesn’t waste time, hand flying immediately to rub up Louis’s thigh, cupping his hip, sliding up to the ditch of his waist. He grabs palmfuls of golden skin, loving how fevered and sweat-dewy it is, digging his fingers into flickering planes of muscle. He can tell Louis is getting close, can hear the way his breath is hitching and the way his hand is moving quicker, nearly a blur over his shaft as he tugs himself hard. “Louis, please come in my mouth,” he begs, eyes wide and pleading as he looks up at Louis, his face flushed pink and cast in shadow, mouth open and panting. “Please, just give me that, please, please,” he begs, and then Louis curses, shooting off. 

 

The first wad of it hits Harry in the face, hot and shocking as it lands across his cheek and eye, which he shuts tight in defense. He doesn’t have time to process it, though, because Louis is growling out a terse, “Open your mouth,” and he’s doing it because _yes_ , yes, that’s what he wants, what he needs. His jaw falls open, and Louis pulls him in close, his cock head nudging up against the soft wet of Harry’s tongue. The next two spurts of come sluice out messily into Harry’s waiting mouth, making him groan as he swallows it down greedily, throat burning. 

Harry doesn’t even realize he’s grinding against the bed as he sucks Louis’s softening cock, loving the slippery twitch of it between his swollen lips, loving the muted whines and hisses coming from Louis as he pets his hair, urging him on. “Look so good like that,” he sighs, his voice so _hoarse_ it makes Harry’s stomach clench. He thumbs through the come on Harry’s cheek, smearing it down to his chin. “Marked up by me.” 

 

Harry murmurs wordlessly around his spent cock, perfectly content now that he has Louis in his mouth, head buzzing and the blood pounding in his ears. He doesn’t think much about the way Louis is collecting the come off his face, wiping it out of the scrunched corner of his eye and smudging it up onto his own fingers. He’s just nursing, lolling his tongue around the soft, crinkled skin of Louis’s cock until Louis pulls out in a mess of foamy saliva. “Get out of your pants, baby,” he says, and Harry does it, blinking suddenly now that his mouth is empty, nothing but spit on his chin. “And spread your legs for me.” 

 

Harry is mildly curious now, still terribly turned on, mind buzzing and skin tingling from it. Louis has propped himself up on his elbow, spitting into his hand, the one that’s _not_ coated in the pearlescent shine of his own come. Before Harry even theorizes about what his plan is, he rubs those spit-wet fingers over his sore hole, making him jump. “Oh,” he says, head lolling back as his thighs splay lewdly. “You’re gonna touch me there.” 

 

“Yep,” Louis breathes, rubbing his fingertips into Harry’s crack, getting him wet, opening him up a little. “Gonna touch you everywhere.” 

 

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, loose and relaxed and drunk-feeling, so tired and oversensitive and _in love_ , totally willing to let Louis do whatever he wants to do, use him for whatever self-indulgent purpose. He arches his back and bears down onto Louis’s index finger, wincing a little at the burn. “Be careful, m’sore from how much you’ve been fucking me.” 

 

“I know baby, just, hold on,” Louis says quietly, sitting up, bending down over Harry’s prone body. Then, Harry feels his other hand nudging between his thighs, his fingers pressing slowly and deliberately into his hole, sticky and slick and warm with—

 

“Oh, god, Lou, are you--” he starts, teeth grit together as Louis _pushes his own come_ up inside Harry’s body, gasping at the heat, at the tight clench of him. 

 

“Yeah, just, just wanted my come inside you, knew you were too sore for my cock, but I wanted this,” Louis mumbles mindlessly, slick fingers twisting and pressing deliberately up against Harry’s prostate, making his cock twitch and drip onto his stomach. 

 

“Oh, my god, _fuck_ ,” Harry swears, insides clutching at the nervy overwhelm of it all. “S’really good. So hot,” he breathes, voice getting torn and lost as Louis adjusts his position and fucks deeper, knuckles pushing past the hot grip of his hole.

 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, pulling out completely and smiling brilliantly at the way Harry _whines_ for it, chasing him down the bed. He adjusts himself on his knees between Harry’s parted thighs, holding him split while he slicks his fingers up in Harry’s precum and slides easily back into the heat of his ass, gasping because Harry’s sore, but he’s _loose_ , he’s letting him, grabbing his knees and crooking his back and spreading for him. “You like feeling my come inside you, even when I haven’t fucked you?” 

 

Harry feels used up and wrecked and slutty and desperate, loving the way this _hurts_ , the way Louis is still being rough with him, even though he’s so, so exhausted. “ _Yes_ ,” he says emphatically, bearing down on Louis fingers, keening at the way they’re nudging up against his prostate, hard and relentless. “Love your come in me, love it everywhere. In my mouth and on my face and in my ass,” Harry groans, mouth falling open as Louis takes his cock in his free hand, pulling on him loose and slow, almost teasing. 

 

“God, baby. Think you can come for me? Still too tired?” Louis asks, tugging Harry’s cock in long, hungry, teasing strokes. “S’okay if you can’t. As long as I can keep playing with you.”

 

Harry groans, his whole body feeling loose and shaky, so hot it’s like he’s on fire. He feels close, but part of _why_ he feels close is because he hasn’t been putting any pressure on himself to come, hasn’t clenched up his legs or abdominals in anticipation, hasn’t met Louis halfway. He doesn’t _know_ if he can come because he’s not trying, not thinking about it, he’s just lying there and being _Louis’s_ , to use and to come on and to adore. “Dunno,” he murmurs. “Don’t care, just, don’t stop touching me yet. Want you to get everything you want.” 

 

Louis nods, understanding, bending to take Harry’s cock in his mouth reverently, and _fuck_ , it’s so hot and wet and electric, the soft plush of Louis’s lips kissing down the underside before he swallows him, eager and greedy, too fast so he’s choking, drooling. 

 

Harry gives himself over to sensation, white-hot and nervy and almost too much, always never enough. Louis is fucking him so _deliberately_ , getting his fingers in deep and crooking at the perfect angle, rubbing over his spot because he knows _exactly_ how to crook his wrist and go slow and firm. It’s so _much_ , sharp and nearly painful, like touching a raw nerve, and Harry doesn’t care, it’s sweetened by the slick velvet of Louis’s mouth, drawn out into a single wavering note of pleasure-pain, and that’s exactly how he _likes_ it. He feels owned by Louis this way, claimed from the inside out while he lies back soft and pliant and willing, just taking it, with Louis inside him and over him and around his cock. 

 

He comes before he realizes he’s coming because it doesn’t feel like coming, not really, anyway. It feels like something is being drawn up from inside of him, like his heart is being pulled from his body, stolen and possessed, taken. His cock doesn’t shoot because there’s no pressure built up behind it. Louis is _milking_ it out of him, kneading his spot, and he’s _dripping_ , cock twitching pitifully as he empties himself into Louis’s mouth, throat ripped around a broken sob. 

 

He comes down from it in a mess of shudders, legs trembling and ass achingly sore, still gripping Louis’s fingers in rhythmic spasms. “Oh, Harry,” Louis rasps, opening his mouth and letting a frothy mess of come and spit drool out onto his stomach, white and milky and obscene. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. 

 

“What did you do to me?” Harry croaks. “Like, I can’t move. Probably ever again.” Then he’s laughing, feeling bright and delirious and euphoric because Louis is so _stubborn_ , so spoiled

 

Louis looks terrifically pleased with himself as he smears his palm up through the puddle on Harry’s stomach, rubbing it over his laurels, up to his butterfly. Then he dabs his fingers into it deliberately before dabbing the hot, slick mess onto his nipples. “Are you done with me yet?” Harry asks, attempting to lift his head high so he can _see_ what Louis is doing. He doesn’t have the strength, though, his head lolling lazily across the sheets as Louis tugs his nipples into hard points again, wincing because they’re _raw_ , sore from his teeth, his stubble. “Ow,” he says, but the sound dies in his throat when Louis bends his head, sucking his nipples clean, tongue swirling to clean up the shine of his come.

 

“Not ever gonna be done with you,” he announces then, pulling off with a smack. “But I will let you shower and brush your teeth and sleep, I suppose.” He sighs, placing a single lingering kiss to the center of Harry’s sternum with swollen, chapped lips before huffing and sliding off the bed. “C’mon, love. Shower all the tea party germs off of you?” 

 

Harry smiles dreamily to himself, and lets Louis haul him out of bed. 

 

—-


End file.
